


Gallifreyan Politics or: How the Doctor fell in love with the Master twice

by Rae_Saxon



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-09-27 22:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Saxon/pseuds/Rae_Saxon
Summary: The Doctor should not fall in love with this President-To-Be, who's most definitely bad news, but sadly, he does it anyway. What he doesn't know yet is, that this particular President-To-Be is the same villain in disguise he shouldn't have fallen in love with centuries ago. || AU set on Gallifrey





	1. Chapter 1

Normally he would've just said no.

Normally, he would have laughed at their faces, told them they were crazy, told them to go to hell and not have done this.

Ever.

But here's the thing about genocide – It changes perspective, a tiny little bit. Especially when you're the one committing it.

Not that he'd recommend it for people to try at home. Usually, genocide didn't turn out to be just one big fake that reversed itself and presented people with a second chance and big, golden letters spelling “Maybe don't kill us all this time.”

And so, when a very shattered Time Lord society, suddenly deprived of their tyrannical leader, had contacted the Doctor and asked for assistance in voting a new, democratic government, he had – reluctantly – accepted.

Big mistake.

“Come on, Doctor, you're already late. Honestly, I don't know how you manage it. Flying a time machine and still show up late.”  
  
The Doctor grinned, hands in his pockets. “Brax, that you? Glad to see you too, brother.”

The Time Lord just snorted and continued to steer the Doctor out of his TARDIS and onto Gallifreyan ground, for the first time in... well, in a very long time.

“Sure you are.”

He had been rather looking forward to enjoying that first step back onto Gallifrey.

How very naive of him.

Looking around the insides of the Citadel with a mix of awe, aching familiarity and the immediate urge to run away, the Doctor, unaware of where he was walking to, ran into the first Time Lord coming their way.

“Oof,” he greeted him with a sheepish smile, and quick hands grabbed his elbows to keep him steady. “Sorry. It's Braxiatel's fault, really. Told me to just run everyone over on my way to the Council, because I'm so late. 'Stop for no one,' he said. 'Not even Rassilon himself'.”

“You know,” the Time Lord in front of him grinned, and it was one of those crooked, endlessly charming grins that the Doctor was so used to giving out himself. “If you ever decide to actually run over Rassilon, let me know, I will make sure to send him your way personally.”

The Doctor returned the grin enthusiastically.

“Would you wait with that until I find myself something like a truck? Maybe a tractor?”

“I'll provide you one myself.”

They shared a little laugh, which, as all good things, was interrupted by Braxiatel's little, dry cough.

“If you have quite finished flirting with our presidential candidate... we have things to discuss.”

“Presidential candidate?” the Doctor muttered, as he was being directed into a side door, and waved his new acquaintance a disappointed goodbye.

Funny, how fast attraction could dissolve from hearing the word “presidential” alone.

He was bored out of his socks five minutes after arriving. Nothing had changed much, on this dusted old planet. You would think, a tiny, galaxy-altering Time War, genocide and being pulled back from said genocide would make them rethink a few concepts, change their priorities, but here they were, hushing him into a room with empty, bare walls, serious faces without much expression and even the robes. Rassilon, these robes. He had _always_ hated them.

“So, whatever it is,” the Doctor made clear even before taking the offered seat. “I'm not running for election. Been there, hated that.”

“Typically self-absorbed, just how I left you.”

That was Braxiatel, of course, closing the door behind him before he sat down on the table, one leg still on the ground, watching the Doctor intently. “No one asked you to run – Believe me, we've had quite enough of that the first time around, ourselves.”

“So good to have you back, brother,” the Doctor replied dryly. “Did I mention? So what _do_ you need me for? Let's make this quick.”

Brax gave him an exasperated look. “Of course. Got planets to haunt in that old piece of junk, I imagine?”

“That old piece of junk saved Gallifrey and the whole universe from your lovely little war, thank you very much.”

“That's quite enough, I think,” another voice threw in.

The Doctor whirled around.

“Borusa? That you? Aww. It's been so long, I'm even happy to see your treacherous old face. Well. New face. But you get what I'm saying.”

“Yes, I believe I caught all the thinly-veiled insults, thank you, Doctor. If we could proceed with politics?”

The Doctor and Braxiatel shared a look.

“Thinly-veiled?” the Doctor mouthed, hoping rather intensely that none of his insults appeared even a little bit veiled. He wanted them all out in the open, really.

Braxiatel just shook his head in mild amusement.

“There's an election coming up,” Borusa reminded them with sharp tone. “And we have called you in for advice, if you, in your unwavering arrogance, would be ready to give it.”

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Advice?”

Borusa looked like he had just bitten into something very sour, which, funnily enough, gave his new regeneration a very nostalgic touch, and nodded.

“People seem to... be drawn to your... opinions, lately. It seems your actions regarding the Time War have been... noted.”

“My actions noted?” the Doctor asked softly. “Or yours doubted?”

Borusa gritted his teeth. “Be that as it may,” he finally concluded, intently ignoring the Doctor, who had expected nothing less. “Are you going to offer us your precious views?”

“Only, if I get asked with a little more cynicism. Come on. You can do better than that,” the Doctor grinned wryly.

Borusa gave back an equally bitter grin. “Saving the best up for the days to come.”

“As I was sure you would. Fine. Why not. It's a fresh start. And you have screwed up so many of them already, I suppose you really do need help.”

“See,” Braxiatel grinned. “Told you he's conceited enough to accept.”

The Doctor decided not to dignify that blow with an answer.

“You would need to join the Council,” Borusa added with an expression that made perfectly clear, that he would've preferred the Doctor to say “Hell no” and run away.

Even more reason to do it, really.

He had a policy of subverting expectations.

“Aw fine, if they'll have me again. I could take my old seat.” He raised his eyebrows. “_Not_ wearing the robes, though. Absolutely not. Nope. No way.”

Braxiatel rolled his eyes. “No one cares, Theta.”

“Oh. Well. Good. ”

“We just need you to vote,” Borusa agreed with a sigh. “People are scared of making decisions, scared to vote another tyrant into power, scared of more war and bloodshed coming. And somehow, you have become some twisted sort of... hero figure.”

The Doctor frowned.

“So basically, what you're saying is... The election is just gonna be me voting and others following my example? Gallifrey _still_ hasn't learned to think for themselves, then?”

“Why don't you teach us, then?” Borusa replied with sharp tone. “Enlighten us with all of your wisdom.”

“Well, I can at least try,” the Doctor shot back, intentionally overhearing the sarcasm. “One person deciding over the fate of many is never a good idea in a democracy. Especially when that person is me. I'm not good in power positions.”

“You don't say,” Borusa remarked dryly.

“So, anyway, who are the candidates?”

“You've already met him,” Braxiatel reminded him, and the Doctor's frown deepened.

“Okay. What about the others?”

He caught Borusa and Braxiatel exchanging a look and read the situation within seconds – Different Braxiatel, same old look on his face, and he'd seen it quite too many times.

“Ah,” he sighed. “You don't care about the others. You want me to vote for _him_.”

He really shouldn't have come. It was a ridiculous idea in the first place, and now that they had assigned him a room in the Citadel, given it a fancy name tag and everything, he had the sinking feeling he couldn't back out of this one anymore.

They probably had locked away this TARDIS with triple high-security locks in the darkest of dungeons at this point. He just knew they had.

With a sigh, the Doctor let himself fall down on the cool bed, looking around his empty room. It didn't feel like a home. It didn't even feel like something that, at some point, could become a home. It just felt like everything he had ever ran from.

He had spent the last few hours having a heated discussion about how he was definitely not letting them decide who he voted for Presidency, only to have them basically shoving them in here, with the promise of some sleep and even more discussion coming in the morning.

Of course.

Restless, the Doctor let himself fall back down on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Back in the Academy, he had installed a hologram cosmos shining all over their ceiling, keeping him focused on his main goal – Which was getting off this planet as soon as possible, seeing the universe, visiting every single one of the stars shining above him.

This ceiling was heavy and bare, and he felt buried beneath it almost immediately.

Glaring blue eyes came into his mind, a boy with a grin so wry, it conveyed a constant state of arrogance. He had never meant to go alone...

The Doctor, suddenly feeling like a rebellious child again, quickly averted his thoughts from this particular face, and instead let his thoughts focus on the matter, thinking back to the man he had met in the hallway.

He had seemed smart enough, alright. Pretty quick-witted from what he'd seen. Charm dripping from him like he'd bathed in it. He hated to admit that something in his dark eyes had stuck with the Doctor, was following him around even now.

Shame he'd have to absolutely, irrevocably and most, utter-most definitely, refuse to vote for him.

~

The Doctor being here was definitely not a good thing.

As soon as he had seen that familiar, bloody piece of junk, which the man has the audacity to call a TARDIS, he had known this was not going to end well. This far, the Doctor didn't seem to have recognized him, but he knew that could change any moment. He had to be extra careful. Double-extra, no triple-extra careful.

With a sigh, the Master slipped out of the silly robes, stretching out on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling. Weird, that exactly today, he had to think of the stars and galaxies the Doctor used to project at their ceiling when they were little children...

Not, that he missed it in any way. Kept him from sleeping more than once.

As he hadn't missed the Doctor. At _all_.

Him being here, that was brilliant.

Dangerous.

The word he had wanted to go for, was _dangerous_.

Against his will, a little smile sneaked on the Master's face, and for some minutes, just some little, innocent, glorious minutes, he remembered what it was like, challenging the Doctor with his plots, messing with him in the most extraordinary manners.

He had lost every time, but something about losing against the Doctor had almost been even better than winning.

Aw fine.

Maybe the Doctor being here was... _okay_.


	2. Chapter 2

Braxiatel came over the next morning for breakfast, making the Doctor bite back at least five different variations of pointing out that he could've done without the company.

Still, his brother brought bread and cheese and ham and he hadn't eaten Gallifreyan breakfast in a very long time, so he went along with it.

“You know,” Braxiatel pointed out after a while that they had spent quietly eating by one another – Which wasn't all that bad, if he was being honest. “You might actually find you like him. From what we know about him, he's a saint.”

The Doctor sighed.

“Didn't say anything against him, did I?”

With a shrug, Braxiatel put on some cheese on his slice of bread. “No, but I know you. You're currently contemplating all the ways you can rebel against authority and I am sure every single one of them contains not voting for this man, simply because we asked you to.”

“It's not right, is all,” muttered the Doctor, feeling considerably called out. “Telling someone what to vote. You want me to influence your people to vote what _you_ think is right.”

Brax took a tiny little bite.

“Well, yes. But all I'm saying is – Maybe you'll like him, Doctor. You could at least give him a chance.”

“I guess,” he sighed, gulping down his bread, and catching an entirely judgmental look as a consequence. “I'll look at all the candidates,” he added, with his mouth full, enjoying Brax hard-suffering expression. “But I can't promise you anything.”

“Wonderful,” Braxiatel replied with a smile that was entirely faked, and pulled out a huge pile of files, letting it plop onto the Doctor's breakfast table. “Then I'll leave you to it.”

He took his cheese bread, got up and left. Stunned, the Doctor looked after him.

“Yeah,” he muttered grimly. “Always nice to share a breakfast with you.”

He ate another slice of bread in peace, not giving the files on his desk a single look.

“There he is. The charming source of all my problems.”

“Awww,” the Time Lord in question grinned. “Finally sent you my way, did they?”

“You would think that. But no. They decided I'll learn all about you from CVs and dusty articles of your accomplishments.” The Doctor shrugged as he let himself into the other man's office, and flopped down on a chair uninvited. “Really not my style at _all_.”

“Ah,” his opposite grinned. “So your style is the personal, heart to heart interrogation?”

“I just believe that getting to know someone with a conversation is far easier than through papers – Wouldn't you agree?”

He shrugged. “If I say yes, will you vote for me?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “You're assuming I won't?”

“Well,” the Time Lord gave back thoughtfully. “From what I heard, you're not the type to listen to what people tell you to do. I told them that plan's ridiculous in the first place – Don't know why they insisted of going through with it.”

The Doctor grinned, he couldn't help it. “Sorry,” he asked quickly. “No one told me – What's your name?”

The other Time Lord raised an eyebrow. “Harold Saxon. I'm sure it's on the CV you refused to read.”

Smiling sheepishly, the Doctor nodded. “Yeah, that's entirely possible. Weird though. Strikes me as a very human name.”

“That's 'cause it is,” Saxon grinned. “Spent a lot of time on Earth, working in the Alien relations department. You know, got to know them and their lifestyle and all that. My Gallifreyan name is Saxongeitmososangsulvesor. It's...”

“... All in the CV, yeah yeah, I know,” the Doctor sighed.

Maybe he could've read up a _little_ bit beforehand. Still, he thought, when he looked at the little flicker in Saxon's dark eyes. There was something he couldn't get without actual interaction. And that something had just sparked his interest.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe he was so determined to hate the candidate because Borusa and Brax wanted him to like him, that he was seeing ghosts. But maybe, just maybe, there was something off with this man.

“Very nice to meet you, Harold Saxon.”

With one thing, Braxiatel was right, the Doctor thought, as he scrolled through the pages of the files he had left him – That man _was_ a saint. Charity work, regular donations, several decades spent on other planets, a horse-riding class led by himself, cooking classes for poor children... The Doctor frowned.

It was a bit much.

Wasn't it a bit much?

Every charity, every organisation, every opportunity to shine, this man had, apparently, taken it.

Huh.

Still, the Doctor supposed, walking in direction of his TARDIS, his nose still buried in the files as he walked. Every politician lied a bit with their achievements. It was a thing in politics, lying. Shouldn't be too troubling. Maybe that guy had just taken it one step too far, exaggerated a bit.

Just to be sure, he put his full name through his computers. While it was calculating, he tried his dematerialisation circuits – As expected, they were jammed.

With the roll of an eye, he looked at the screen again. Of course they had made sure he wasn't going to leave. That was just so _them_.

Well, he thought, staring at the results, telling that there was no Time Lord with this name registered in his archives, but some futuristic Earth Time Lord name generators with the title “What would your Time Lord name be?” had that name in their system. This particular politician seemed to lie a little bit _too_ much.

Several things were occurring.

For once, the Doctor was sulking. And while he waited for Braxiatel (or someone equally responsible) to drag him out of his own TARDIS and explain in their double tongued ways how sad it was that his controls were jammed for indefinite time, he was thinking about his next steps.

Step one – Check the actual Gallifreyan archives. His weren't up to standards ever since the war. Maybe somewhere in there was an explanation, a name change or something similar, some reason why this man had apparently not existed before, though he sincerely doubted it.

Step two – Ask people. If they knew him, since when they knew him, what they thought of him and his achievements. Find out how it could've happened that someone is a favourite in an election without having been properly checked up on once.

Step three – Take that personality test attached to the name generator. Direct interaction to learn about people was one thing, but for now the Doctor was more than curious about <strike>what his Time Lord name would be </strike>what the stranger must've clicked to get this name generated.

He quickly calculated how long it would take to get all the questions exactly right and get assigned the correct name, figured it'd take presumably as long as it would take Braxiatel to notice he has vanished and figure out where he had gone to, and decided that was more than enough time to take the quiz for himself.

He got the name after approximately three hours.

With a frown, he stared at the answers.

So Mr. Saxon (or whatever his name really was):

\- was NOT working in an office (yeah right.)

\- desired personal growth (Did he think lying counted?)

\- decided his strongest quality was kindness (sure!)

\- tended to be the peacemaker between friends (that's what he looked like.)

\- and would be a dolphin if he were an animal (pffff.)

This man was messing with him. Utterly, completely, messing with him. Through the answers of a personality test.

And the Doctor hated to admit that he was intrigued.

Bored of waiting, but giving Braxiatel another ten minutes, he clicked through the questions for himself, only to find out that his own Time Lord name, was, apparently, _IKnewYouCouldntResistIdiotilundar._

Yup.

He was going to need to have to talk to this person.

For the second time today, the Doctor rushed into Saxon's office, flopped down on the chair, not even bothering with greetings this time around.

“So,” he explained with a deep frown burrowed into his forehead. “Made your little test. Really funny.”

“Got all the results you wanted?” Saxon asked with a very poorly concealed laugh.

“I sure did. Checked the archives, too. It's funny, the Gallifreyan Matrix seems to be under the impression that you have always been a very accomplished part of Time Lord society. My TARDIS computer system didn't seem all that sure.”

“Well, it's a very antique... you call it TARDIS?”

The Doctor's face darkened. “Don't get cheeky,” he warned. “I'm very attached to her.”

Saxon raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course you are. It's nothing personal. I just... prefer the newest models.”

“So what's your plan? Ruling Gallifrey and the whole universe from here? That's the most common kind. Or something else. Getting to the Sash of Rassilon? Had that before. Are you even a Time Lord? Gosh, probably not.”

Saxon rolled his eyes. Honestly, here he was, unveiling all his evil plans and he had the audacity to look bored.

“Just becoming President, Doctor. As all the other candidates do, too.”

“The other candidates don't lie about who they are, though,” the Doctor pointed out.

Saxon shrugged. “They would have every reason to. Ciel was once in suspicion of killing his own parents. Vendar burnt down his dormitory in Academy.”

“Oh yeah he did,” the Doctor grinned with a wave of nostalgia. “Got us free from school for weeks.”

Saxon mirrored his grin perfectly. “Yeah, at least him being an idiot got us some free time. Still, wouldn't want Gallifrey to burn down because he's too stupid to know how to properly circuit a simple Proactive Portal.”

The second Saxon caught the Doctor's glance, he seemed to know he had said something wrong. With an exasperated sigh, he fell back in his chair.

“So, you _are_ a Time Lord,” the Doctor grinned. “My generation, too!”

“Yup,” Saxon sighed. “That's how I know you won't rat me out.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Won't I?”

“Well, two idiots and me as candidates, and we've already established I'm not an idiot. Plus, you're intrigued.”

“I am so not.”

“Don't lie to me, you're awful at it.”

With a laugh, the Doctor put his hands in his pockets and started rocking on the balls of his feet.

“I'll let this play out, for now,” he begrudgingly agreed. “But I'm having my eyes on you. And I'll see what I can find out about you. Unless you want to just tell me right away.” He raised his eyebrows. “Gonna find out anyway.”

That grin Saxon gave him was crooked, devious and entirely sure of himself.

“You know, I think I'll take my chances. Let this _play out, _if you will_.”_


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor spent the whole night awake, thinking about the whole situation and came to no satisfying solution. Finally, after having had enough of that face haunting him whenever he closed his eyes – granted, it was a handsome face, but still – he sneaked out of his room in the early morning hours, made his way through the desolated hallways and into the TARDIS storage, where he quietly stole another one.

He was quite trained in it, by now.

Of course, there was no way he was ever going to leave without his own, but this way, he could at least clear some things up.

Point for point, he visited all those references Saxon had written down on his CV. He didn't really expect anything to get out of this – He just _hated_ not knowing what to do.

“Ah, he's such a charming man!” proclaimed the Alpha Centauri he visited in a gushing tone. “Such good manners. He really knew his etiquette.”

The Doctor's shoulders sank. “Okay, but about his...”, he checked the note in his hands, “About his glass-eye distribution programme...”

“Oh that. Yes, it was a full success. My neighbour right around the corner, they smashed her eye in a game of space cricket – Terrible accident – and he had just the solution. Of course, she still can't see, but it is so much more polite to not present your neighbours with a hole in your face, isn't it?”

“So, it's true,” the Doctor asked, his face contorted to a grimace of disbelief, while talking to the human colonists. “That he has come and equipped the whole planet with mirrors?”

“We thought we were lost,” the man agreed with a short nod. “And there he came, swishing in, like the miracle we had hoped for. He'd faced them all – I'm not sure he even blinked, honestly, what a stare that man has, incredible man. And he placed a mirror in front of each of them. They haven't moved ever since.”

“Mirrors,” the Doctor repeated, still rendered speechless. “Really and that worked?”

“As you can see.”

He lifted his hand and gestured towards a huge, immobile angel statue, standing locked in his own gaze, facing a silver framed mirror.

The Doctor stared, quite unblinking himself, for a few seconds.

“Okay,” he finally brought out. “Why not.”

“Videos games,” he remarked dryly. “Really?”

The Sontaran nodded earnestly.

“We like the strategic ones best. He brought us a whole package for everyone, taught us how to control them and everything. Though there are others, of course... Battling online to crush inferior warriors into the ground, it's enthralling. We hold tournaments, if you're interested.”

“Oh. Me? No. Nooo. No no no. I wouldn't. Couldn't. You... you play. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We're not playing, Doctor! We're going into war! On a virtual basis, without any losses for our side, but it's still war.”

“Sontar-HA!” shouted the other Sontarans standing around them.

The Doctor sighed.

“Sure it is.”

  
When he entered Skaro, he stumbled right into a group of Daleks, sitting around Davros, who had a brand-new chair and looked utterly smug about it.

Proudly, he showed off his several new settings, that apparently had him too distracted for actual universal conquering plans.

There was even one to uncork bottles.

“Seriously?” the Doctor asked, too resigned to even bring up the energy to be surprised.

He stormed into Saxon's office that same afternoon and utterly exhausted from his trips and having had to escape Davros' more than thorough demonstration, he fell down on the chair opposite to the presidential candidate, who gave him a knowing smirk.

“Had any luck in your research, Doctor?”

“You're insane. Utterly crazy. You’ve completely lost it. I can't believe even one point on this stupid resume is true, but all of them? _All_ of them? How?”

“Just admit that you're impressed.”

Saxon's grin showed teeth.

“Impressed? That's hardly the right word. Stunned. I'll give you stunned. And I'll give you that those were some of the most creative and ridiculous solutions I've ever encountered but they won't... I mean... this peace won't last. It's...” He shook his head, stunned, then repeated, “_How_?”

But Saxon just laughed.

“I would say… I’m just _that_ good.”

The Doctor shook his head, smiling against his will. He couldn’t help it, there was something about this man’s never-ending calm, his complete disregard of any conventions, his utter ridiculousness… It hit him right where the gaping hole was that had started tearing into his chest from his childhood on, when he had realised Time Lords weren’t what he belonged to even a little bit.

He could feel the same blatant dislike dropping from everything Saxons said and did, and in a way, it felt like they’d known each other for ages because of that connection.

Ah, the Doctor thought and his smile vanished from his face. But they didn’t. He didn’t even know this man’s true name. He was alone as he’d always been.

“Who are you?” he asked quietly, and the man sat up straight, finally taking his legs off the table, looking into the Doctor’s eyes with an intense and calculating glare.

“Who's anyone, really?” he asked after a little while and the Doctor rolled his eyes.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

Saxon snorted. “What is it to you, anyway? Tell me, do you really care about Gallifrey? Do you care what happens if their latest political scheme blows up in their face?”

“If Gallifrey messes up, it puts the whole universe at risk,” the Doctor replied with a frown. “I might not give a great deal about Gallifrey and their corruption might be the cause of their own downfall again and again, but I do care about the universe. That thing they're supposed to protect, remember? Vast? Pretty amazing?”

Saxon laughed.

“The universe is better off without them.”

The only way to comment this was with a shrug. Everything else would've forced him to admit that Saxon was right, and the Doctor wasn't quite ready to do that, yet.

“I'm tired of protecting it on my own. I'm just so, so tired. All I wanted to be was a traveller.”

Saxon gave him a incredulous look.

“You? Just a traveller? Please. You were meddling with things long before you even understood them, just for the sake of it. You can't keep your fingers still and everyone knows that. That's why they got you here – Because they knew you couldn't stop yourself from meddling with this election, even though you _hate_ it.”

The Doctor flinched.

“Yes. Maybe. But that only proves that I care about this universe, doesn't it?”

With a roll of his eyes, Saxon let himself fall back into the chair.

“I promise you, I won't let the universe come to any harm. How about that?”

Unable to stop himself from snorting, the Doctor shook his head. “And what good is the word of someone I already know is a notorious liar? How do I know your word's worth anything?”

Saxon leaned in towards him, a conspiratorial grin on his face as he did so.

“Guess you'll have to stay and find out, don't you?”

“Do you care about them?” the Doctor asked suddenly, following his intuition. “The Time Lords?”

Saxon scrunched up his face.

“Not one bit. Bunch of corrupt, power-hungry traitors, ready to stab you in the back the second you turn around. No thanks. I prefer the honest kind of villain.”

The Doctor laughed.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Pictures flared up in his mind, unwelcome and quickly pushed back down. Pictures of a boy with bright, blue eyes, dark hair and a laugh for him and him only, pictures of who this boy had grown out to be, the insanity, the deviousness, the plans crashing down all around them, until his last breath.

He buried them deep beneath this new task, concentrated on pulling back out of the dark pit in his mind, back to the present, back to keeping his mind busy, so it wouldn't crash back down.

They shared a long, intense look for a moment, the Doctor trying to find some honesty, some trace, some clues in those dark eyes in front of him, and Saxon... well, whatever he was looking for in him, really. There was something between them and he could feel it crackling in the air like pure chemistry, ready to explode all around them.

And all throughout, he reached out to the Doctor, again and again, teasingly, mockingly, but so clearly, it would take a blind man not to notice.

“So,” he finally said, his mouth suddenly weirdly dry. “I promise to stay. You promise to not do any harm. And we both find out what our word's worth on the way?”

Saxon smiled and the Doctor startled at the sadness he could suddenly see in those usually so cunning and calculating eyes.

“Can't wait to find out,” was all that he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master is having his fun and the Doctor is wondering why his type is "evil super villain with a beard".

How was that old Earth saying?

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

The Doctor pondered, with a sigh, how it was that Earth had never invented a saying for what to do with someone you didn't know yet if he was enemy or friend, because he was a politician in a powerful position, lying through his teeth, but still kind of nice company.

“My life can't ever just be simple, can it?” he muttered, while staring intensely at the five letters in his lap, willing them telepathically to just disappear.

Funnily enough, they didn't seem to want to comply. He groaned, letting himself fall back onto the bed, the envelopes fluttering around him.

Five invitations. Five! Two of them from people he didn't even know. When he had heard of the pre-election celebrations, he had actually hoped for just staying inside, maybe take a walk somewhere in peace, escape the walls of the muffled towers.

When Braxiatel had told him he'd be expected and given him Romana's invite, he had thought he could still somehow escape. Romana was sensible, Romana was his friend, she would understand if he'd just sneak away and enjoy a quiet night without Gallifreyan politics involved...

But that was before Braxiatel's friendly reminder had been pushed in underneath the door – not without his brother shouting that it was impolite not to open when the visitor knew _exactly_ that he was in and calling him _petty._

The invitation read more like a threat and stated specifically that if the Doctor had “trouble” finding someone to accompany him to the party, he would simply go with Braxiatel himself.

Which was to be avoided at all cost.

The other two invitations, women whose names he's never heard before, were admirers of his. Or so he had been told. In all honesty, the Doctor hadn't really listened – He usually faded out when someone used the word “admirer” in context of... well, him and besides; his attention had already been drawn to the last letter addressed to him. A letter signed with “Harold Saxon.”

“Please no,” he had muttered, “no no no no!”

But no muttering and no poor telepathic attempts had made his predicament magically disappear and so, the Doctor decided, if he had to go either way, if there really was no way around, he might as well go with Saxon and keep an eye on him.

Keep your friends close, he thought. And your enemies closer. Whichever one that one might be... he was ought to be kept close.

Weirdly enough, he thought, as he trashed the other invites into the bin and, after a moment of mindlessness, placed Saxon's onto his night stand. Yes, weirdly enough, now that he had let go of his quiet alone time, the prospect didn't seem all that bad.

“Fine,” he said, as he entered Saxon's office, having long given up on formal greetings, and flung himself onto the chair opposite to him.

The politician raised a single eyebrow with an amused smirk on his face he could not completely hide from him, but did not look up from the – apparently very interesting – piles of paper on his desk.

“Fine,” the Doctor repeated, trying to get a reaction. “_Fine_.”

“I heard you the first time, Doctor,” Saxon assured and with a little sigh seemed to realise that he was not going to get rid of him without giving him any attention. “What is so awfully fine, then?” he asked, still not looking up.

“I'm going with you to the party,” the Doctor replied, his arms crossed, but a wide grin on his face. “To, you know, find out more about you.”

“Aw, how terribly romantic,” Saxon replied dryly, while making some notes on his files.  
  
“Oy!” the Doctor called out, and simply grabbed the bunch of papers, pulling them away from him.

When Saxon's eyes flinched up to him, there was a threatening spark in them, gleaming for only a second, but it was enough to send shivers down the Doctor's spine.

Aha, he thought. Dangerous.

“You're not wooing me, only to ignore me five minutes later, we're not playing that game,” he still went on. “At least tell me what to wear. I don't have to... I mean... do I have to wear the... robes?” He shuddered in a completely over-played fashion.

A lazy smile had appeared on Saxon's face, but the Doctor hadn't forgotten the danger he had seen lit up in those dark eyes. He was a good actor, an excellent one even, but he knew that now and he would have to be careful to not let himself get fooled by it.

“I am _not_ wooing you. And a suit will do fine. Trying to get them all off the idea to put me into these robes, myself. The second I'm President, they're the first thing to go.”

Well, that was awfully confident. No “if”s in that sentence, alright?

The Doctor grinned – Two could play this game of utter deception.

“So wooing me. Suit it is. I can definitely do that. I hope they have punch. Ohhh. I haven't had Gallifreyan Punch in a while now. Really missed that... if not much else.”

“I'm sure you will be in luck. Absolutely not wooing you at all, you're basically flying in here all by yourself. Can I have my papers back now, please?”

The Doctor gave him a little glance. There was an indulging smile on his face, but he could see how stiff it was.

“You're very busy, hm? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take up all of your precious time. Well. I totally did, but if you don't have it...”

He apologetically handed over the pile of files.

“Don't worry about it,” Saxon sighed. “I just would like to get this done before election, it's a little of, well...”

“Looking good for the public last minute?” the Doctor finished helpfully, only too well aware of how politics worked.

Saxon shrugged. “I guess. Look at this, it's ridiculous. They apparently haven't learned anything from their past.”

He handed him back one of the sheets and the Doctor threw a quick glance on it.

“Request for an interview in the Matrix? Criminal endeavours and how they start.... The _Master_?”

“One would think they'd shut this down. The last student who asked to be let in to interview a convicted criminal...”

“Helped him escape involuntarily, yes, I know, I was there.” The Doctor was still staring at the sheet. “Still, I would think, if they're just going to talk to his Matrix version, it should be.... Aw. No, what am I saying, nothing's safe with the Master involved.”

Saxon shrugged, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“So I think. But I'm afraid turning her down in my position might not be... the wisest of moves. She knows I have the influence to make this happen and she came directly to me because the High Council had already turned her down.”

He sighed again. The Doctor watched the little frown burrow deep into his forehead, looking like it was trying to find a home to stay. He looked so... tired. And for a second, all the Doctor wanted to do was cheer him up, his hearts racing at the sight.

He still held the paper in his hands, staring down at the name “The Master”, while his whole being ached to give this man a break, to lift this man's worries. He couldn't possibly...

Ah, damn it.

“Well, if you want to... I mean, I'm not the person himself. And far be it for me to understand where his criminality... came from.” He cleared his throat. “Well, maybe I have a _general_ idea. Anyway... I can... could... talk to her. Tell her what I know. I... knew him pretty well.”

Saxon's eyebrows shot up.

“Would you really? You'd probably be the best source we have at the moment.”

“I'm definitely the best source you have. And yeah. Yeah that's fine. He'd like that, actually. Some idiotic student finding him interesting enough to write a paper about him and annoy all of his old teachers.” The Doctor smiled. “Always had quite the ego.”

Saxon snorted. “Spare the character analysis for the student, Doctor. I'm not particularly interested.”

“Course not,” the Doctor grinned.

Saxon's eyes shot up again, giving him a rather appreciative smile, before he turned back to his piles of work.

“I'll offer it to her. Thank you, Doctor. Your concern for my campaign is quite touching.”

“Just helping to, you know, save the Master's reputation. Students can mess it up all so much and I have a very accurate list of all his most insane and brilliant plots in chronological order. Not interested in you becoming President at all.”

But he grinned, knowing that Saxon could see through his lie easily. To his surprise, he even looked up again, giving him one of his most charming and dazzling smiles – One of the honest ones.  
  
“I'll pick you up at seven.”

When the Doctor returned into his room, he gulped at the sight of the invitation, still standing innocently, - and absolutely fatally - on his night stand.

“Did... I put you there?” he asked, a wide-eyed look on his face that confirmed he already knew the answer to his own question, as he quickly tore the letter away and let himself fall onto the bed.

Ridiculous. His whole life. Utterly ridiculous. Here he was, flirting with this man – No point in denying this, is there? - while also having a date to talk about... about... well, his ex? His... soul mate? His constant nuisance?

He pulled his blanket to the chin, staring into nothing.

He didn't like this. Any of this. One bit. He didn't like all these thoughts about the Master coming back up again, he didn't like the guilt of... of what? Having feelings for a new, lying, probably insane and power hungry Time Lord striving for power while his old one was dead and gone?

He did not like this, but for the wrong reasons. He did like him, but shouldn't. Not because of the maniac super villain he had been in love with before. But because maniac super villains were _bad_. Did he have a type? Was super evil and hot and a beard and a very good liar and sarcastic super dry humour sprinkled with a heavy dose of intelligence his type? Because considering how many of the sort he had met on his quest to stumble into every universe ending scheme ever... that would be a bit concerning.

Maybe it had to be Time Lords.

Was he racist?  
  
Aw damn, he was racist, wasn't he? But he usually really didn't like Time Lords all that much.

Bloody hell, feelings were confusing, when you had only ever loved one person and now suddenly they were dead and you were stuck with feelings for someone new.

But then again, he thought with a little sad smile – Without all the super villain details in between, it sounded like one of these struggles people had all over the universe. Sounded like not all that complicated and isolated at all. And hadn't he always been the first person to tell them to move on and love and live and laugh, because spending the whole life in grief wasn't the way one wanted to spend it?  
  
Ah. Listening to his own advice wasn't a thing he did, was it?  
  
The Doctor growled into his pillow.  
  
One had to hand it to the Master – He even managed to mess up his life while being dead. He'd probably be proud. After he had killed this guy for making eyes at the Doctor. Which was exactly why they hadn't been together any more in the first place!

So all the Doctor had to do was ask Saxon politely not to kill people? Hah.

His life couldn't ever just be simple, could it?


	5. Chapter 5

It took him around five minutes of nervously pacing up and down the room, to wonder why ever he had agreed to this.

Ridiculous, he thought. Utterly ridiculous. Talking about the Master? With this school child? Saxon just had to bat his eyes at him and look a little tired and he had suggested it all by himself – Was he an idiot? Apparently. A quite love struck one, too.

What a great opportunity to talk about your dead ex.

The door opened and the girl walked in. The Doctor stopped in his tracks. She was far younger, than he had expected, probably only in her first years of Academy. She looked just as nervous as he felt, a pad clamped to her chest, and a pen behind her ear.

He gave her a warm smile.

“Hello! I'm the Doctor. You're here to talk about the Master with me, right?”

She nodded shyly, sitting down on the hardwood table facing him. She looked awfully lost, sitting there like that, on the huge table created for Time Lords to play their power plays.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

“Mind if we get out a little? Walk over to the sea?”

She nodded again, looking grateful and pressed her pad tighter to her chest as she got up and followed him outside.

“So...,” he tried his most reassuring voice, “You're interested in the Master, huh?”

“Is it true you were in love with him?” she blurted out before he could say anything else.

The Doctor's face fell. “I... uh... who told you that?”

She shrugged. “Everyone says that. It's a common rumour, really. Ciel doesn't believe it, but that's because he's stupid. He's stupid, isn't he?”

“Uh, I don't know, never met the boy, really,” the Doctor blurted, rubbing his ear lobes sheepishly. “So it's like a.... a school thing?”

“Yeah we all talk about it sometimes. Cassidy thinks you were in love with him and he didn't reciprocate. Gyl said that's rubbish and you'd never love someone as evil and that it must've been the other way around. I bet it's been both of you, though.”

The Doctor just stared at her with his mouth falling open at this point.

“I don't... we didn't... that's not... uh... so,” he cleared his throat. “What questions do you have about the Master?”

She looked at her pad thoughtfully for a minute, chewing on her lower lip, then looked up with sparking eyes.

“Were you in love with each other?”

The Doctor sank down onto the grass with a sigh, looking out at the sea. He was not going to get out of this one, was he?  
  
“Well... yeah. It was never really in question and it was never anything either of us could not fall into. We did it together. As we did everything... together.”

The wind was painting patterns onto the water, rippling it while tugging at his coat, making it flutter around him. It got much colder, suddenly, and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up again.

“Camilla said he's not able to... love anyone. You know, because he's so evil.”

“Oh what does she know,” the Doctor replied bitterly, then caught the young girl's expression and softened a little.

“He could love, he was just terrified of the power it held over him, so he told himself he wouldn't for so long, that he might have actually believed it at some point. I'm not sure,” he muttered with a little shiver. “I'm not sure if he ever really did. All the effort he put into hating me... It'd be almost a shame to have it go to waste.”

“Was that why he was evil?” she asked quietly.

The Doctor turned around to her with a sad little smile.

“He wasn't always, you know? He used to be so clever... and funny. He tried to change things, for Gallifrey, tried to move it forwards. Was always craving to learn more. It all got lost on a conquest for power, somewhere inside him, but I'm convinced it was still there. He still had the potential to be good. If he had tried.”

“Is it true he escaped from a Black Hole? Professor Borusa said-”

“Oh, I wouldn't believe him. He said it's impossible and just a silly rumour, didn't he?”

“Well... yes.”

“Well, Borusa said a lot of things,” the Doctor laughed. “He did escape from a Black Hole – How, is beyond me. He never told me. He is a bit like a magician. Always makes the mistake of revealing his plans, but never his secrets.”

“Was,” the girl corrected him, then bit her tongue in obvious guilt.

Something inside the Doctor froze.

“Was,” he agreed. “Yeah.”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't worry about it,” he sighed. “It is how it is, I need to... somehow live with that. Any other questions on that magic pad on yours. Some not concerning his love life?”

“Is it true he was friends with the Daleks?”

The Doctor laughed. “God, no. No one's friends with the Daleks. No one. He tried to use them, more like it, and they tried the same with him. Didn't work out, as you can imagine. I had to solve that whole mess.”

His eyes glassed over, as he looked out onto the water again. A whole other life, that felt like – Then again, it had been. Centuries had passed since then and he... God, he missed him.

The Doctors hearts ached heavily now.

“You still love him,” the girl said sadly, and the Doctor shrugged.

“Never quite found out how to stop.”

That's when a voice behind them made them both flinch.

“You know, it's really easier to write when you're sitting on an actual table, that's why we assigned you a room.”

They both looked up at Saxon with equally sheepish smiles, making him roll his eyes indulgently, as he sat down next to them.

“Don't worry. I prefer fresh air, too. I could really use a break,” he sighed, leaning back with his weight on his hands.

“I think I'd best go,” the girl smiled, clutching her pad to her chest again and quickly running off. The Doctor looked after her with a crooked smile.

“Cute thing, bit shy though. Not sure how she got assigned with the Master, of all people. Had she talked to him in the Matrix, he would've eaten her for breakfast.”

Saxon laughed.

“Which is why I'm extra grateful for you taking the job. The explaining I would've had to do if that poor girl returned home in pieces...”

“Everyone does so appreciate a President who cares more about his reputation than a girl in actual pieces, I am sure,” the Doctor replied with a raised eyebrow.

Saxon had the good sense to look called out.

“Still working on that,” he replied with a crooked smile, which for some reason made the Doctor laugh. “The whole caring thing.”

Yup. There it was again. His _type_.

“Date's still on though, is it?” Saxon wanted to know with a genuinely worried frown and the Doctor gave him a confused look.

“Yeah of course, why are you.... Oh.” he stopped, realising what was going on. “Have you been... listening?”

“Only a bit.” Saxon shrugged.

The Doctor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, not sure what to reply to that.

“I can't... I can't miss him forever,” he brought out eventually. “I need to move on. Or at least, you know, attempt to. He would want me to... Oh no, scratch that, he would absolutely want me to remain miserable and missing him forever.”

“You might be right with that one,” Saxon replied with a half smirk. “So. Date's still on or not?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor replied, then, realising he didn't exactly sound convinced, added another, slightly louder, “Yeah. Date's still on.”

Saxon picked him up quite on time, to the Doctor's great relief wearing a suit. He didn't exactly have a problem with being the only one in the room not wearing the silly robes – But he was definitely relieved his date didn't wear them. He had a renegade reputation to uphold, after all.

Which probably didn't work very well, now that he entered the room with the future Lord President hooked on his arm, he realised, as soon as they had stepped in and every conversation in the hall simply _died_.

“Well,” he muttered. “That certainly got their attention.”

Saxon grinned. “Attention's good. Attention gets people voting.”

“Well, I don't need to be voted. Or glared at. Wow, those are some death glares,” the Doctor glanced at a group of people, standing together, muttering darkly, while looking into their direction once and again.

Saxon gave him an apologetic smile. “They all begged me to accompany them. Bit needy, really. Guess they're gonna be on a war path with you now.”

Apparently, that thought made him chuckle. The Doctor just tried his best not to look at the group of people (which now suspiciously looked like they were teaming up for a rebellion) again.

“I think I need a drink,” he muttered, and Saxon nodded, leading him to the bar.

That's when Braxiatel found them.

“I see, you found some company, Doctor.” The smug smile on his brother's face made him want to shower for a whole week. “And here I thought I'd have to drag you out of the room. I see, you are getting... pleasantly _familiar_ with our candidate.”

The Doctor quickly reclaimed his arm, simply to fold it in front of his chest.

“You wanted me to come, I'm here. Don't get too comfy with the idea that you manipulated me for your political power play. I got asked and I said yes. That's all.”

“Of course.” He let his eyes roam over the both of them for a moment. “Well, I suppose you've always felt drawn to those ignoring the rules.” He gave them both a disapproving look, before he walked away.

They shared a little grin.

“Oooh,” Saxon giggled. “Reprimanded.”

“He does that a lot,” the Doctor replied with a grin, feeling much lighter already. Back when he had brought Koschei home, Braxiatel had spent days and days of talking about it with his parents, tried to explain to them how “this boy” wasn't good for him and... Oh, he was doing it again. He had to stop. Had to stop thinking of the Master.

The grin faded from his face.

“What's wrong?” Saxon asked, his voice as whisper now, as they quickly moved away from the bar, before more people came over to talk.

The Doctor shrugged. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Right,” Saxon sighed, then grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let's dance.”

“I... oh. I'm not sure I can dance, actually,” the Doctor tried to argue, but it was pointless. Saxon was already dragging him into the middle of the hall and yet again, they found all eyes focused on them, as they started slow-dancing, Saxon's arm around his waist, the other still holding his, and the Doctor sighed.

It wasn't too bad, all things considered. He didn't have to do much, he definitely _could_ dance a little and all the whirling around and looking into those gleaming dark eyes made him forget about all the people staring at them easily.

Oh yes, he forgot about every other person, alright.

All but one.

“Feeling better?” Saxon asked quietly, and the Doctor nodded, not able to bring out a sound.

It was all very magical, and he couldn't deny for another second how attracted he felt to this stranger, whose true name he didn't even know and how conflicting feelings raged in his hearts right now, leaving him paralysed and worried.

And now he was crying. Great. He was ruining their whole evening by _crying_.

“Hey,” Saxon whispered, his eyes warming up with a bit of worry. “Hey hey hey, what's wrong?”

The arms around the Doctor's waist were tightening and suddenly, that face was far too close to his. The second he realised what had happened, soft lips were already pressing against his, so gentle, for a second the Doctor was too stunned to move, just let it happen, his whole body falling slack, as he reciprocated the tender kiss.

Then reality caught up with his mind.

“Are you crazy?” he asked, pushing him back with both hands to his chest, freeing himself of the grip. “Not here. Not _now_.”

Stunned, Saxon stumbled back, looking at him with wide eyes. People around them had started muttering and with one swift turn, the Doctor fled out of the room, desperate to escape everyone's eyes.

“Where are you going?” Saxon had run after him, catching up with him down the corridor to his room. “You can't just make a scene like that, people are going to...”

“I don't care about people!” the Doctor spit into his face. “If you care about what people think about the way you behave, then maybe change the way you behave! You can't just... just... kiss me like that!”

“And why not?” Saxon shouted back with a roll of his eyes. “Tell me, why not? You've agreed to all of my advances, you've agreed to come to this date, you were obviously interested!”

“Of course I was interested!” the Doctor waved his arms around, desperately trying to find a reason that had nothing to do with “I'm still kinda in love with my dead boyfriend”. And let them sink with an exasperated sigh.

“So what's the problem?” Saxon wanted to know, still shouting.

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders desperately. “I was upset and you kissed me, that's the problem! Now... just... leave me alone!”

And he slammed the door to his room shut right in front of his face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... Explicit sexual content ahead. I suppose. It's the first time I ever wrote smut and it's more like.... meta sex anyway, but here you have it.

He couldn't sleep. Several images of both, Saxon and the Master, still whirled around in his mind, laughing, mocking, kissing him. The Doctor's head was spinning.

He knew, in general, that he had been unfair to Saxon – He had done nothing wrong. Proven a bit awkward on the empathy front, maybe, but well - he had known that before.

Now, what was he supposed to do? Sleep and then start a healthy, well-rested conversation with him without shouting and accusations, in the best case. Yes, that would be rather sensible. Explain him all about his inner battle, about why he had been feeling so incredibly vulnerable and guilty in that very moment their lips had touched.

The Doctor swung his legs out of bed, the suit still on, if a little ruffled, and slipped back into his shoes. Yes, sleeping now and talking tomorrow, it would surely be the best choice in this situation.

He opened his bedroom door and sneaked through the abandoned corridors to Saxon's room. He bit his lower lip thoughtfully, one hand already raised to knock, then shrugged and did it anyway.

He had never been known to be sensible.

Saxon ripped open the door with a dark look on his face. He, too, was still wearing his suit, it looked as if he had laid awake in it all night, his hair was ruffled up and his eyes were throwing sparks. Within a second, every clear thinking be damned, the Doctor had thrown himself into his arms, taken his face into both hands and kissed him passionately.

Saxon didn't hesitate for a single second. He grabbed his shoulders, turned them around, slammed the door shut with his foot and then guided the Doctor to his bed, his lips never leaving his, as they started tearing at each other's suits.

Within seconds, the Doctor was crashing to the bed, Saxon over him with a predatory grin, as he ripped open his shirt and sank down place gentle bites onto his neck, his hands running down the Doctor's chest with skilled, surprisingly gentle touch.

He wrapped his arms around Saxon's neck, pulled him closer as their crotches met and drank up the moan that followed, husky and low, watching him lose control for the first time since he's laid eyes on this carefully guarded face.

With quick moves, the Doctor freed both of them of the last remains of clothes and for a few seconds they just kissed, enjoying to be skin on skin.

Saxon gave him a predatory grin as he wandered downwards, all master of his expression again, let his tongue flick out and gave the Doctor a long, languid lick down the length of his cock.

“Please,” the Doctor whispered huskily, not sure how much teasing he could take right now.

Memories were flickering up in his mind, memories of someone else doing this to him, making him feel like _this _and he quickly pushed them aside, buried them. All he wanted was forgetting, just one night, just for now...

“Please,” he repeated, trying to make Saxon understand the urgency, the need that went so far beyond the sexual one.

And with a last, glowing look up at him, Saxon's head sank back down as he took in his cock slowly.

The Doctor groaned, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

“Yesyesyes, please,” he begged, thrusting gently into Saxon's hot mouth, the relief almost tangible between them as his mind slowly slipped into blissful silence, let him let go for just a little while.

He could feel Saxon chuckle around him and it was astonishing (and so, so wonderful) how good it felt.

Under that skilful tongue, the Doctor could feel himself get close almost embarrassingly quick. Still, Saxon wasn't having any of it – With one last, drawn out suck, he let the Doctor pull out and wandered back up his body, kissing him surprisingly softly. The Doctor could taste himself, tangled up with the sweet, sweet taste of these lips and almost lost his mind over how good it was.

“I... I need you,” he whispered, because it was true, and because memories were rising back up the second his mind got a chance to clear again.

Haunted, he thought. I am haunted and he won't ever let me go.

Saxon smiled and kissed the corners of his mouth, until they gently raised again.

“Don't worry, you'll get me,” he winked, and the Doctor couldn't help but feel a tiny little bit smug of how raspy his voice sounded, right before Saxon reached over him to his night stand and got some lube – Oh God, how often did he do this kind of thing? Was he just one of many...? And was he even in any position to judge, as he lay here, thinking of someone else?  
  
Probably not.

The lube tingled pleasantly as gentle fingers started probing him. Soon, the Doctor forgot about everything else, meeting Saxon's thrusts eagerly. He pulled his fingers out shortly after, kissing him hungrily as he _finally_ pushed in.

The Doctor moaned breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Saxon's neck with shaking hands, needing him closer, closer still.

Saxon started thrusting with little moans, his precious control finally slipping and the Doctor got drunk on the sounds, drunk on watching him, with his slightly parted lips, his expression softened in bliss.

A hand wrapped around his cock, firm and rough and just exactly _right _and they both moaned in perfect synchronicity. Saxon leaned down, kissed him until they both were breathless.

“Come with me...” he breathed against the Doctor's lips, giving him another slow stroke of his cock and thrust into him one last time. He could feel Saxon's relief spreading inside him and came with a chocked cry, his whole body trembling from the intensity of his orgasm.

Saxon let himself fall on him, still inside him, his low chuckle brushing the side of the Doctor's neck. 

“Sooo...” Saxon laughed after they had laid for a while in content silence. “Just to make very sure... I'm allowed to kiss you now?”

The Doctor laughed – His chest lifting gently with Saxon still on it, who had raised his head to smile up at him like a satisfied kitten.

“Yeah. Course you are,” the Doctor babbled. “Yeah. I was... not really angry at you. More at myself.”

Saxon dryly raised a single eyebrow.

“You don't say.”

“I'm sorry,” the Doctor sighed. “Really, I am.”

Saxon rolled off him, settling down next to him as he opened his arms in an invitation. The Doctor readily sank into the embrace with a little smile – This was easy, this was comfort. And being held was something he hadn't been in so, so long... it was as if years and years of stress, pain and loneliness simply fell off him. And for a little while, there was nothing, no one, but them, nothing but peaceful contentment.

The Doctor sighed happily, his eyes fluttering shut as he slowly drifted off into sleep.

Later that night, when they both woke up to the first lights of dawn, tangled up in each other, sweaty sheets barely covering them any more, it took Saxon one glance to see that he was upset.

He held him for what felt like hours, and it was as if his touch was healing all the little wounds in his hearts, where splinters had bored in from all the breaking he had endured.

“I... loved him, you know? Despite it all. No matter what he turned into, how much time, how many bodies passed – I always loved him.”

“I was getting that impression, yes.”

The Doctor snorted.

“I don't think he ever did. I... did it wrong. I did it all wrong. And I'm still doing it wrong now.”

Saxon had his head propped up on his hand, shifting to the side as he contemplated the Doctor with a heavy sigh.

“It's not... it's not fair. Me being with you. Like this. Still... still thinking of him.”

Saxon laughed.

“Oh come on, Doctor, don't go all soppy on me now. It's perfectly fine. I don't mind being second choice – The sex is great.”

The Doctor grinned, propping up his head as well, to be on the same height.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Oh dear. There's that ego I so love to hate. Yes honey. You were _good_. Pinky promise.”

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up to a rather smug (and unnecessary) wiggle.

“Well, then you should see what it's like when you're first choice.”

Saxon merely grinned.

“Who knows, maybe one day I will find out. Until then, I'm sure I'll be plenty of busy with that whole President thing.”

“You're pretty sure you're gonna win, aren't you?” the Doctor wanted to know curiously.

Saxon let himself fall back onto his back, shrugging. The Doctor could watch every single one of his movements, the breathing, the slow rising and falling of his chest, the little pulsing vein on his neck, the slender arms moving as his fingers ran over the silky duvets... nervously?

He was beautiful.

“It's just a formality, really. With you showing up to that date even more so.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don't take it like that,” Saxon added hastily. “That's not why I asked you out in the slightest.”

“That was the good sex,” the Doctor grinned and Saxon confirmed with a roll of his eyes. “So me making a scene did not make it worse then?” he asked, guiltily biting his lower lip.

Saxon laughed.

“We'll see. But I doubt it'll make much difference. Gallifreyans are barely ready for democracy. Lady President Romana meant well, trying to implement it, but society is still completely unprepared. People will vote who they're being told to vote – And the people already in charge will call it democracy.”

“A rather sober view on the system that is going to make you president,” the Doctor remarked and Saxon turned back onto his side, looking into the Doctor's eyes intently.

“I could be good for them, Doctor. I could change something. Help them grow. Do you believe that?”

“Does that matter? Whether you're good for Gallifrey or not, you are what Gallifrey is gonna get.”

“It matters to me,” Saxon replied calmly.

The Doctor shrugged.

“You're smart. Smarter than they are. You're definitely not as boring as they are. You see the flaws in our society – And are not in denial about them. In fact, I'm pretty sure you're able to see through everything and everyone. Without effort. You are either incredibly good or incredibly dangerous for Gallifrey. Which of those things it's going to be, I cannot say yet. The one thing I've not yet figured out about you are your morals.”

Saxon gave him a crooked grin. “And my name.”

The Doctor sighed, but knew when to admit defeat.

“Yeah. That too.”

“So... you, the saint of Gallifrey... sleeping with someone potentially evil?”

The Doctor smirked.

“And not for the first time, either. But that's just the thing with potentially evil – It means there's also always potential for good.”


	7. Chapter 7

Braxiatel's eyebrows shot higher than the Doctor had ever seen them, once he spotted him sneaking (rather ineffectively) out of Saxon's room with his hair tousled up and his shirt untucked in the next morning.

“Uhm,” he muttered, trying to come up with a good excuse. He briefly considered “We've been working on serious election talk all night, it was very enlightening”, when Saxon stepped next to him, shirtless, one hand casually propped against the door frame, and a wide, self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Okay,” Braxiatel announced after an achingly long moment of uncomfortable silence. “I am going to see if I'm needed _anywhere_ else.”

“I suppose that was absolutely necessary?” the Doctor asked dryly, still staring at the spot where his brother had stood mere seconds ago. He could tell from Saxon's voice alone that his grin was not wavering one bit.

“Absolutely,” he confirmed, suppressing a laugh.

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor turned around, stole a lingering kiss and then walked back to his room with a little grin – If they were going to do this openly, they might as well go all in.

When he turned around one last time before going around the corner, he saw Saxon smiling almost sheepishly, running a hand through his messed up hair.

Perfectly lovely, he thought. Almost innocent.

If only he didn't know better.

The High Council ordered him in for a “nice little chat” the very same afternoon.

People were staring at him all day, in the aisles, on the grounds, on his way to the toilet, and even positioned before the doors to the council room. The Doctor sighed. They weren't even trying to at least _seem_ subtle.

News sure travelled fast on Gallifrey.

He slipped through the heavy stone doors, shut the muttering out from behind him and sat down on the table, where a lot of judgemental old fools were already waiting for him – Was he late again? Oh, he was late again, wasn't he?

"Sorry,” he muttered, but couldn't quite hide away the grin. “ 's very busy outside.”  
  
Braxiatel seemed to have regained his composure and went back to what he did best – Disapproving.

“Two days,” he hissed. “Two days until the election and all you had to do was show your support – ”

“I think I absolutely showed...”

“Shut up,” Braxiatel replied. “He's about to become Lord President. Are you even aware of what you're getting yourself into?”

“Oh no,” the Doctor gave back gravely. “Will you hold me a long and boring speech about reputation now? Oh, you are, aren't you?”

“It's like I told you. This is all one big joke for him,” Braxiatel announced to the council. “He's had several lovers over his time. He collects them like stamps and then lets them fall to run around the universe some more.”

“What? No, wait, what, that's not... what?”

Borusa lifted his head with his usual grave expression.

“Doctor, we can't tolerate this. This is serious business and we will not let you sabotage it with your whim-”

“Excuse me?” the Doctor jumped up from his seat, his voice echoing in the room with anger now. “Me falling in love is not a whim and it's not something I do light-hearted. And more importantly, it's not of anyone's business but _mine_.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Braxiatel remarked with a roll of his eyes. “This is politics, Doctor. Your business is the High Council's business. We always knew we were going to have to babysit you if we were to try this plan... But we underestimated you yet again. An affair with the President.... please!”

The Doctor buried his face in his hands. “So what do you want me to do?”

“What is that supposed to mean, what do we want you to do?” Braxiatel sounded unnerved now. “Marriage, of course!”

“Mar... Marriage?” the Doctor choked out. “Are you _insane_?”

“It's the only way to save this latest stunt of yours now,” Borusa threw in with a tone that apparently tried to be reassuring. “People are already talking.”

The Doctor took his time then, looking into each of the faces of the council, all of them looking back coldly, and realised with shock running through his veins that they were serious.

“Isolation has driven you crazy,” he announced dryly, as he pushed away his chair. “Get a TARDIS, see a bit of the universe. It might do you a world of good. All of you. Utterly crazy.”

He turned around and left, without another word.

Ironically, there was only one place he wanted to be right now.

“Can you imagine?”

The Doctor was pacing around in Saxon's office for thirty minutes now, telling the story again and again, words tumbling over words so much, that it took the President-to-be several restarts until he finally caught the whole meaning of his story.

He hadn't stopped laughing since.

But the Doctor was far from ending his outrage.

“_Marriage_, he said. Like I'm the crazy person, like it's the most obvious thing to do with someone I know for a week. _Marriage, Doctor. _Go on then. Just marry him!”

“I hope you don't expect me to go down on one knee,” Saxon grinned, wiping away tears of laughter. “I'm not one to kneel.”

The Doctor shot him a death glare.

“I don't even know your real _name_.” Nothing could stop his stream of nervous babbling at this point. “Oh God. Oh no no no, when they find me, they'll keep on going until I forget my own name, they'll keep on trying to manipulate me into marrying you, you need to promise me... Oh no no no.”

“Doctor!” Saxon laughed. “Relax. I'm going to be their boss in two days. No one is going to force marry you. You'll be fine.”

“Right,” the Doctor brought out with the first laugh of the day. “True. Yes. You'll be their boss. Everyone's boss. Universe's boss, really.” He frowned. “I still have no idea if that's good or bad. But apparently, I'm to be marrying you. Great. Amazing.”

Saxon chuckled. “You're having a nervous breakdown.”

“How great of you to notice.”

The Doctor let himself fall into one of the chairs in front of Saxon's desk, sat for half a minute and jumped up again.

“They're insane,” he shouted again, only leading Saxon to laugh even more, as he let himself fall back into his chair.

“Of course they are. That can't possibly surprise you?”

“No, well... a little?” the Doctor, finally calming down, let himself fall onto the chair once more. “It's not that I didn't always knew they're corrupt idiots, more concerned about reputation than ethics but... That's one step I didn't expect them to go.”

Saxon shrugged. “One more reason I need to be president. Changing this rubbish once and for all.”

The Doctor gave him a dark glare.

“Don't think I'm not noticing your subtle attempts of self-promotion.”

Saxon gave him one of his most charming smiles.

“I won't particularly need your vote, but I _would_ consider it as a win all by itself.”

“There's a very narrow line between sweet and scary, and you seem to be constantly balancing it.”

“It's one of my countless talents,” Saxon nodded and to his own dismay, the Doctor had to laugh.

For a while, they just sat together, laughing, while the Doctor's pulse slowed down a little. Saxon put his feet on the table, demonstratively ignoring the paper work underneath his shoes and watching him with a sexy half-smile instead.

The Doctor sighed.

“I read from your face that you're determined not to change anything?”

He shrugged.

“I see no need to. Let the old fool's heads explode over the foreign concept of love. Could be fun.”

The Doctor's eyebrow shot up immediately.

“Love, huh?”

Saxon simply rolled his eyes.

“Here he goes again, getting all soppy. You know what – Yeah, why not. _Love_.” He grinned. “Scared?”

“I don't even know your name,” the Doctor repeated quietly. “I can't know someone who doesn't even exist. Who I don't even know. Maybe one day. If you tell me the truth about yourself.”

Saxon gave him a sad smile.

“Maybe one day.”

The Doctor lay awake that night, next to a warm body, that was curled up all around him, taking deep breaths while listening to his hearts beating...

So alive, he thought. And that was what he should focus on.

He couldn't feel guilty anymore, shouldn't really, for falling in love, surely?  
  
Ah... _love_.

He had used that word today, even before Saxon had and it was crazy. They had called him out for being whimsical, had called him out for leaving his lovers behind, moving on to the next one and maybe they did have a point, because they had never known, never seen what he felt like on the inside, which claffing abyss he had to fill after what had become of his relationship with the Master.

And what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to know if this was a... a whim... or something serious, something that might finally fill the gaping hole inside his hearts?  
  
Maybe not at all.  
  
For now, the Doctor was happy snuggling up to the man next to him, enjoying not lying alone anymore, and thinking about the meaning of the little word 'love'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's election winning time, wooohooo

Ever since the Doctor had entered the waiting hall, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. He usually didn't mind being the centre of attention, but today, all these people looking at him, all these hopes pinned on him, made him uncomfortable.

The truth was – he didn't know what was best for them. He didn't know if what he was voting was right. And to them, it didn't matter anyway, because every single person had already made up their mind about who he was voting for, all from the rumours that had been making the rounds ever since he had first gone out with Saxon.

With a sigh, he placed his cross, sent the letter off, forcing himself not to think too hard, as he made his way out, avoiding everyone else's gaze. What was he going to tell them? That his judgement was completely clouded from grief and attraction and some weird blossoming of love he couldn't quite shake?

Voting for the man you shared a bed with shouldn't feel quite as wrong as it did right now.

Then again, never had he imagined sharing the bed with someone whose true name he didn't even know.

Saxon wiggled his eyebrows suggestively when he entered his – well... their – room shortly after. The Doctor stood with a little smile, hands in his pockets and shoulders leaning against the door frame.

“Did your voting, eh?” Saxon grinned, as he got up, pulling him closer on his tie for a kiss. The Doctor leaned down with a laugh, complying only too happy. In moments like these, all his doubts simply fell away. It was easy to get caught up in this man's charming nature, it was easy to simply let himself be swept away by him.

And hell, could he use easy right now.

“Yeah,” he sighed with a crooked little smirk. “You know, Romana's attempt to establish democracy on Gallifrey was... a lovely attempt. Maybe one day, they'll be ready for it, what do you think? Can you help them get there?”

Saxon grinned.

“That's your way of saying you voted for me, is it?”

With a shrug, the Doctor fell down on the nearest chair.

“I suppose I was always going to. You're thinking different than they are. You're thinking like me. You're thinking... _freely_. Whether it's good or bad intentioned, it doesn't really matter, if it's the first independent thought Gallifrey has ever had as leadership.”

Saxon snorted.

“I'll tell Romana you said that.”

The Doctor's head shot up.

“God, please, no, don't, she will send Leela after me. I can't possibly win that battle.” He laughed. “Romana tried her best, but she was still too caught up in what Gallifrey had been for far too long. She set the ground for you, though. Maybe you can build on it.”

“Look at you,” Saxon gave him a rather soft grin. “Believing in me.”

“Might as well,” the Doctor grumbled affectionately, making Saxon laugh.

He wrapped both arms around the Doctor's hips, leaning over him with a cheeky grin, stealing yet another kiss.

“It means the world to me,” he declared seriously and the Doctor flashed him a smile.

When Saxon won with an overpowering majority, nobody was surprised – Least of all him. The Doctor watched him carefully that night, gracefully thanking everyone for their congratulations, shaking hands, modestly holding his victory speech – It was one detailed theatre, beautifully constructed and even better acted.

It scared him half to death.

The celebration was huge and the Doctor quickly grew tired of avoiding Braxiatel's judgemental gazes while being pushed around by the crowd trying to get to Saxon.

At one point, as he was standing on the bar, contemplating if anyone would notice if he'd just took the chance to steal back his TARDIS and disappear, he felt an arm snake around his hip and a soft kiss placed on his cheek.

“Sorry,” Saxon muttered into his ear. “Can't seem to get rid of them.”

The Doctor turned around, ready to tell him what he thought of his exceptional acting skills, but as soon as he did, worried eyes met his, underlined by dark circles, deep ingrained on his skin. The Doctor sighed.

“You look exhausted.”

Saxon shrugged.

“Been a long night. Guess that's just part of it. A lot of people who have never talked to me, trying to fly close to my light. It'll wear of. Bear with me, please?”

The Doctor gritted his teeth, thinking.

“You're lying to them. How is anything ever going to change if you just repeat every president's mistakes yet again? I thought you wanted to change things?”

Saxon froze, looking at him with serious concern now.

“Lying?”

“Making them... making them believe they chose this. Making them believe you're this... this person who's...” he waved his hands around, feeling very, very lost. Oh God, he thought. I've given my soul to the devil, what the hell did I think I was doing?

“What do you want me to do? Step up and tell them the truth?”

“Why not?” the Doctor retorted, almost shouting now. “They've been lied to all their lives, why not, just for once, do the decent thing and tell them they're just sheep.”

He turned around, feeling everyone's gazes on him, as he left the hall with quick steps.

There was no escaping the excessive speeches, celebrations and announcements. He could hear Saxon's voice echo from the walls into his room, until he lay with pillows pressed to his ears, growling so loud he could pretend not to understand the words any more.

The Doctor knew it was just another case of being more disappointed in himself than Saxon. He had fallen for someone, _allowed_ himself to fall for someone, who was... just another one of them. Just another corrupt Time Lord in a sea of them, and he had, for one fleeting, beautiful moment thought he had found someone special, someone like... someone like _him_.

Had thought he could fill his hearts with someone who was as special as the boy he had fallen in love with thousands of years ago, thought he had finally found someone in this whole, vast universe that could actually be enough. Enough for his adventurous soul, enough for his judgemental mind, enough for his whimsical hearts.

God, he missed the Master. Koschei. His Koschei, who had taken him by the hand the first time they'd met and let him on an adventure he had tried to recreate day after day in his TARDIS, but never quite gotten the feeling right. And adventure so much bigger than anything he had ever seen.

He missed this funny, charming, unique person who could carry galaxies of evil in his soul and still shine so bright, sometimes the Doctor had to pinch his eyes shut. He missed looking at him once, just once, and immediately knowing everything as if reading an open book, immediately feeling all the things he had felt the first time they had connected their minds, could still taste his thoughts, his brilliance, his poetry in his.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair that the one time he had allowed himself to think of moving on, it all came crushing down on him.

The pillow fell to the ground next to him but the Doctor didn't bother moving, just stared up to the ceiling, wishing for the first time in his life for the universe to just be a little bit smaller. Maybe then he would be able to find what he was looking for.

“So what you need to know...” he heard Saxon's voice from the distance, still talking into that microphone. The Doctor wondered if he would ever stop – Maybe he was going to marry that microphone? “... Is that the whole thing was decided the second the voting began.”

The Doctor sat up in his bed, straight.

Oh, no no no. He wasn't really doing that. He wasn't...

“It was always going to be me. They made you vote me, because that's what they wanted and you did. And I'm sorry. I am. Because that's less than you deserve. But I promise you, with everything I am... even though that might not be much – I'm the best choice for you. Because I will fight for you. I will.”

Oh Rassilon, he was.

There was a little pause. The Doctor could hear the outrage in the hall, could hear excited voices shouting. He sprinted out of his suite, almost stumbling over his own feet as he hurried back into the hall.

Saxon was standing on the stage, people around him talking and yelling in utter excitement, the Council already trying to make their way through the upset crowd towards him. He caught his gaze immediately, eyes locking with the Doctor's, as he continued speaking.

“I've been betrayed and back-stabbed, I've been used and thrown away, I've been you for all my life on this very planet and I will _not_ let anyone have it happen to them any more. That is my promise to you. I'll do good by you.”

He fled the stage the second Borusa had fought his way through the crowd, elegantly escaped his grip and walked up towards the Doctor, as the crowd parted for him. For a few seconds, there was absolute silence, but when Saxon grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the hall, there was applause following them out, so loud and roaring, they could still hear it from outside. The crowd had gone back to blocking the council's way, not letting anyone follow them, as Saxon led him out into the freedom of the night, further and further away from the suffocating walls surrounding them.

They ran into the night, millions of stars above their heads and the Doctor laughed, laughed because he couldn't help it, because it felt so achingly familiar, so painfully like when he was a child, for a second it was as if the Master was here with him, and he just had to, had to laugh, because crying wasn't an option, not after what had just been done for him.

They fell into the high grasses far from the Capitol, shielded from everyone's looking gaze, and didn't wait a single second. Greedy hands all over each other, as presidential robes quickly were torn away, followed by the Doctor's suit. Naked skin on skin, fire in their hearts and for a night, a wonderful, peaceful, utterly free night, there was nothing but them and the stars.


	9. Chapter 9

They couldn't run away forever.

As soon as they entered the Capitol again, the council was waiting to bombard Saxon with complaints and accusations. The press was waiting just behind the next closed door, and a whole pile of paperwork was resting on his desk.

The Doctor held his hand through it all, holding himself back from a) shouting at the council b) glaring at the press and c) shoving the papers down the desk, and instead just rubbed his thumb reassuringly over the back of Saxon's hand, trying to remind him that he was there.

The next few days put a strain on Saxon. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, he looked drained and overwhelmed. The Doctor helped where he could, went through the different rules and changes he was trying to implement and discussed with the rest of the council for several times, trying to push them through.

Due to his latest stunt, the tables had considerably turned – The council, having wanted unwaveringly for Saxon to get voted, now all stood against him, trying their best to stop every change from coming through and the Doctor found himself trying to negotiate with every single one of them.

A few weeks in, the Doctor sank down onto Saxon's back, an open file still in his hands and his nose buried inside.

“They want you to...”

“Shut up,” Saxon grumbled.

He was lounging on his sofa, a pile of papers next to him, and an open file lying on his belly. The Doctor saw his eye lids fluttering and realised that he had woken him up from a dozing state.

“Sorry,” he sighed, walking over to the sofa. He lifted Saxon's head slightly, let it rest on his lap, and stroked through the soft, slightly greying hair.

Saxon sighed contently.

“Getting a bit much, is it?” the Doctor muttered. “You look like you can use a break.”

“Make it ten. Ten breaks. And a holiday. Somewhere else. Maybe Dallirium.” Saxon's voice wasn't more than a tired murmur.

The Doctor gave him a crooked smile. “You want a 24 year holiday?”

Saxon's eyes opened at this, looking up at him warmly.

“If you'd come with me.”

Smiling sadly, the Doctor shook his head. “Maybe. If you tell me your real name.”

With remarkable speed, Saxon shook off the last remains of sleepiness, and sat up, away from the Doctor's hands.

“What?”

The Doctor shrugged, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was with having produced such a reaction.

“You still haven't told me who you really are.”

“You didn't care before,” Saxon hissed, underlying anger in his voice clearly audible now. Within a moment, the Doctor realised he was lashing out to him out of... fear?

“We weren't getting serious before,” he replied calmly. “It started with sex and that was alright, morally questionable, but alright, but this is getting... we got quite close and I just...”

“You what?” Saxon spit, his voice bitter as venom. “You can't love me unless you know my name?”

The Doctor looked taken aback, but tried to shift closer, reaching out to take Saxon's hand. He pulled it back.

“There's a whole person... a whole world inside of you I don't know. If I... if I love someone, I need to know them. Need to feel safe. Trus...”

“You can't trust me?” Saxon interrupted him incredulously. “After everything I've done for Gallifrey, all the sleepless nights, you can't...”

“I didn't say that,” the Doctor shouted, sounding desperate now. “That's not what I said, I voted for you, of course I trusted you with Gallifrey. Can't you understand wanting to know everything about a person... to know them so well...” The Doctor's tone became pleading now and as images of Koschei appeared in his mind, he stopped himself from going on.

Here he was, measuring this relationship on impossible measures. Never, in any lifetime, had he known any person as well as he had known him. Never again would he feel the same way. He needed to stop, needed to stop craving, longing for something that Saxon would never be able to give him.  
  
He was being unfair.

Saxon looked at him with a wounded expression now.

“Don't you trust me?” The Doctor tried a new approach. “Do you think I'd just run away? You... you don't have to keep this secret from me. Not me. I want to share it with you. I...-”

“Doctor, I can't.”

Saxon sounded so calm, so sad, it made the Doctor stop in his tracks.

“What do you mean, you can't? Why can't you?”

For a few seconds, they just silently looked at each other from different ends of the sofa, the Doctor kneeling and resting on his arms, one hand still reached out to Saxon.

“I just can't,” he finally said.

“You really think I'll run, don't you? What could be so bad that could possibly send me running?”

Saxon snorted bitterly.

“A gust of wind could make you run, Doctor. Frankly, I'm surprised you stayed as long as you did.”

Hurt, the Doctor let himself fall back onto his backside, finally taking his hands back to himself.

“I stayed for you. I thought you knew that.”

Saxon shrugged coldly, but he could hear his voice tremble when he spoke next.

“Well, it won't last. You and I both know that.”

It stung. It stung, because there was nothing he could say to deny it, nothing he could show for himself, no proof against it, nothing but the bitter truth.

With a last look, he turned around silently, leaving the president's suite with hanging shoulders.

“Here we go,” Saxon muttered, visibly deflating.

He was still staring at the door after the Doctor had long gone.

He didn't know where else to go. It was a ridiculous idea, next to ludicrous and he knew no one was going to let him through anyway – He had quickly developed into a thorn in many people's sides. But he felt like he had to try anyway.

And here he was standing, just around the corner, watching the soldier guarding the Matrix, and questioning his life choices.

Entering the Matrix to talk to your deceased enemy and ex-lover about your new lover and how you can't let go of him... yeah, that was going to work brilliantly. Still. He's had had worse plans.

He just couldn't remember any right now.

With a last deep breath, he forced himself to walk around the corner in a composed step, giving the soldier staring at him in obvious distrust, a wide, charming smile.

“Hello there,” he greeted him a tiny bit too cheery. “I was just wondering...”

“Out,” the soldier bellowed, holding his gun to the Doctor's chest.

“You didn't even let me explain,” the Doctor replied with indignation in his voice.

The soldier glared at him.

“I've been trained to not let you speak.”

“Ah,” the Doctor sighed. “Glad they finally figured that out. Well then.”

With a swift movement, he raised his arm, his sonic screwdriver in his hands, aimed for the nearest chandelier and let it crush onto the man with a single buzz.

He smiled apologetically down at the unconscious figure to his feet.

“Sorry to knock you out. It's important. Promise. Well. Don't think any of you would actually share my definition of important in this case... anyway. Allons-Y!”

He ran past the soldier towards the Matrix, as always standing in front of it in awe for a few moments, admiring the buzzing and the tension of watching two worlds overlap. His whole skin was covered in goosebumps and a genuine, almost relieved smile spread on the Doctor's face.

He was going to see him again. Finally.

With a grin, he began the process, skilled hands moving in lightening speed over the console. He wouldn't have to enter, if he'd just get the codes and setting right, he could make the Master appear, just for a tiny little bit, just for a talk and...

He was staring at the screen in front of him, baffled, as the red circles blinking spelt an undeniable truth the Doctor was not ready for.

“What?” he asked into the empty room, as if the Matrix somehow could give him an answer. “What... what do you mean The Master's not _here_? Then where _is_ he?”


	10. Chapter 10

It didn't take him long to figure it out, after this.

“A list,” the Doctor shouted, frantically shaking the confused guard awake, who was blinking up at him mindlessly, wondering why there was a chandelier lying on the floor next to him. “Is there a list for the people resurrected?”

He pointed towards a cabinet on their right, then rubbed his head as the Doctor finally let go of his robes, sprinting towards it.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, come on, come on!”

There he was. The Master. Resurrected... during the Time War.

His hearts were beating out of his chest. And while the Doctor was still trying to puzzle together the pieces, to convince his mind that he wasn't dreaming this out of blind hope and desperation, that this was real, that there was no other way, the man behind him had spotted what he was looking at.

When the Doctor turned towards the door, everyone else long forgotten, the guard was already gone.

A bulk of people had collected around Saxon's... no, the Master's, office door. People were shouting, people were running in the door, people were talking to each other angrily.

There were only pitchforks and torches missing.

The Doctor watched the whole spectacle in the shadows for a bit, his shoulders drawn up as if he was cold – He knew what they'd find the second that door sprang open.

And sure enough – a confused council stormed an empty office. Everything was still at its place, nothing had been taken with the Master.

... Nothing and no one.

The Doctor felt his hearts sink.

Unsure, where to direct his rage now, Borusa kicked the filled desk and a pile of papers flew around him. People were busily exchanging theories on where the Master had ran to. The Doctor could barely hear them. He knew if he didn't want to be found, none of them ever would.

And neither would he.

That's when Borusa turned around, his face contorted to a grimace of hate.

“The Doctor. Get the Doctor here. _Now_.”

People turned around, ready to storm and go get him. Within a swoosh of his coat, the Doctor had vanished around the corner, ran down the corridors and left the town behind him within minutes, with all of their politics and corruption.

If there was anything he had learned in his childhood in this very town, it was how to run into freedom.

It was a shot in the dark. As soon, as he felt like he had gotten rid of any potentially curious eyes following him, he had taken a turn into Gallifreyan woods and was now fighting himself through the branches and bushes.

It was somewhere close from here, he knew that much. These trees over there, they felt familiar and those rocks still had their names on them from when they had carved them in.

Koschei had preferred that to a tree.

“Trees don't last,” he had said. “Not while there's people around to hack them down. We're gonna last.”

The Doctor's hearts were racing to his neck.

He ran around the corner and there it was. The little cave entrance, hung over with vines and hidden away from people's eyes by various bushes growing and sprawling all around it. He hadn't been here in ages and his stomach was in nervous, joyful twists just from seeing it.

So often they had ran out here together, hidden away from the world, shared their best kept secrets with each other.

So much had happened since then. So much had changed.

“We're gonna last,” he heard Koschei's voice in his mind again and took a deep breath.

God, he had hoped they would.

It was up to the Master now. If he wanted to be found... this was where he would go.

With a last, nervous sigh, the Doctor started fighting his way through the thorny thicket to the entrance.

He had not been prepared for the picture that was presenting itself in front of him. The Master was sitting in a corner, hunched together, shoulders sunken, and his head hidden in his hands, quietly weeping.

Hesitantly, the Doctor stepped closer, trying to announce his presence without startling his old friend, but the Master didn't even look up, didn't even move.

Worried, the Doctor sank down to his knees next to him, extending one hand, then letting it hover right over the Time Lord's shoulder, not touching, not drawing it back, completely unsure how to proceed.

He had expected him to be angry, to be smug about having tricked him, to maybe be annoyed at the thwarted plan, but this was something else entirely.

This was defeat and he had never seen the Master admit defeat before.

Before he could make a decision, the Master had taken it for him, suddenly lifting his head up from his hands, looking at him with a red, tear-stained face.

“Every time,” he breathed with a rough voice. “Everything I try, no matter what I do, I just end up right here again, every time.”

The Doctor let his hand sink slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“Work hard in school, my dad used to say. Work hard and people will respect you.” A bitter sob escaped the Master. “No one ever did. Mum said... mum said to make friends, to open up to people or I'll end up lonely. Guess what. I ended up lonely anyway. I was... I was trying to do the right thing, Doctor.”

The Doctor felt his hearts twist painfully.

“I... I know...”

“I was helping them, I was good for them! But everything I touch, it falls apart. I'll never... they never accepted me, they never will.”

“A lot has happened,” the Doctor replied, trying to sound reasonable, yet reassuring at the same time. “A lot of history. People are... unlikely to trust you just like that.”

“They tried to hunt me out,” the Master replied dryly. “I tried to help them grow as a society and they hunted me off their planet. I...”

The Doctor let himself fall to the ground next to him, laying an arm around his shoulders now, as he pulled the Master towards himself, rested their foreheads against one another.

“Listen to me. Listen.” He stared into the Master's dark eyes intently, a sad smile appearing on his face as he looked at him. How could he not have known who was in there all this time? How could he have been so blind, so grief stricken he had forbidden himself this one hope, this one possibility? The Master now shone back to him, crystal clear. “You're what this planet made you. You've always been. You got rejected young, ab... abused and tortured and then cast out to make sense of it all, on your own. I didn't... I didn't help. I left you when you needed me most. I know that and I'm sorry. But it's not your fault. Not this time. You were good for them. I promise. You were.”

The Master trembled in his arms, and he could feel his full weight resting on him. The Doctor held him with a sigh, running his fingers down his back, through his hair, trying to be as much comfort as was possible to him right now.

Finally, the Master let him see a first, shaky smile.

“Never thought I'd ever hear that apology from you.”

“Yeah. Well. People grow.” The Doctor grinned. “Even I had to fall victim to that one day.”

“So you... you're not...” The Master cleared his throat. “Mad?”

“Ridiculously mad,” he snorted. “But if you mean mad because you pretended to be someone else while sleeping with me, nah, I think we're good.”

The Master's little smile had turned into a full-grown grin now.

“You fell in love with me.”

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor laid down on the cave floor, just like he had down so many times before, looking up at the ceiling with all its beautiful carvings and drawings, wondering yet again how long they'd been in there and who had carved them in. Some rebels, some students, hiding away just like they had?

The Master lay down next to him, still ginning smugly.

“Yeah well,” the Doctor finally admitted. “Fell in love with you twice. Guess that proves one things.”

The Master raised his eyebrows in questions and the Doctor shrugged.

“You're not as alone as you think you are.”

“You're a variable, not a constant,” the Master sighed. “I can't ever count you in any of my calculations, because one never knows when you'll leave again, when you'll decide the universe is more important than me.”

“Oh, _I_ decided that, did I?” the Doctor snorted, propping himself up on his elbows to glare at the Master. “Who was it again who went out trying to conquer the universe like a mad man, with no regards for who they stamp down on the way to power?”

Shrugging, the Master averted his gaze.

“I lost you. So I might as well try and get the second best thing.”

“Oh please,” the Doctor laughed bitterly. “Flattery won't get you anywhere. I know I... I should've stuck around. You got so hungry for power, I should've pulled you back to the floor instead of running.”

“I didn't do this for power,” the Master whispered, so quietly, so calm, the Doctor's guilt immediately switched to compassion. “Not this time. I wanted to prove... I wanted to prove that I could do it, you know? I could be a good leader. I was a good leader. But they... they didn't care.”

“And they never will,” the Doctor sighed. “They don't know you. They never bothered to get to know you, not as a child, not now. They don't care about exploring, about getting to know, they just care about having, about power. You've been turning into them in an desperate attempt to belong, but... I loved you for being unique. I always did.”

The Master took a deep breath.

“I wanted to tell you,” he explained, pleading eyes on the Doctor now. “I just wanted to show you before. Wanted to show you that you wouldn't have to leave me again... that I can be... be...,” he frowned, and spit out in disgust, “good.”

“Been too busy having an internal crisis of whether I'm allowed to love 'Saxon' or not to even notice,” the Doctor admitted with a little laugh. “Next time you're not dead, please just tell me straight away. Or I'll promise, I _will_ punch you. You got a card Blanche because you're upset, but it won't last.”

The Master laughed.

“I'm glad... I'm glad you showed up. It was fun messing with you, if I'm being honest.”

“Yeah well. It was fun giving a whole interview about you while you were listening. Really amazing. Loved that you made me do that.”

The Master giggled giddily and the Doctor felt a surge of relief flooding him, as he realised that his old friend started to feel better.

“I was so excited for the finished thing... guess we'll never know now.”

His face fell. The Doctor quickly pulled their foreheads together again.

They lay like that, quietly, for a few minutes. No one said a word, no one moved, just two boys looking at each other, except they weren't boys any more and the world had gotten considerably darker than their childhood had ever painted it out to be.

“What are we... going to do, Doctor?”

The Doctor considered this for a while. Would he be able to talk people – not the council, but actual people, the ones he had actually attempted to help – into wanting their president back, even after this revelation?

Maybe.

Was he able to picture the Master sitting behind that desk, going quietly insane in a quest of gaining people's approval, who had never looked out far enough to care about anything but their own position and power?

Absolutely not.

Could he picture himself returning to what they had had before, a limbo between being lovers, friends, and enemies, fighting across the galaxies, never knowing if the other could make it out of it alive?  
  
Hell no.

The Doctor shrugged.

There really was only one choice to make here.

“We steal a box and run away. Together. Like planned. Just a little late.”


	11. Epilogue

"You know," the Doctor grinned, while delicately dodging yet another black piece of clothing flying towards his face. "They all look the same to me."

The Master turned around, hanging his head through the door frame to the dressing room he was standing in.

"I'm not the least bit surprised," he remarked dryly. "You have no sense of fashion whatsoever."

"We agreed about the robes," the Doctor pointed out. "Though I _do_ remember one of your past selves had quite a thing for them."

He quickly ducked away from a shoe, he was _sure_ had been thrown at him deliberately.

Another black clothing item fell to the floor, adding to a steadily growing pile of black.

The Doctor picked it up with a little shake of his head, and held it up in the air, right in front of his face, inspecting it closely.

"It's... black. It's fabrics. Seems to be your style."

The Master rolled his eyes and stepped out of his dressing room, – finally – wearing a black coat with red lining and a very unique cut, black trousers and a sexy little grin.

"What do you think?"

The Doctor grinned sheepishly.

"Well," he finally drawed out. "It's... black. It's fabrics. Seems to be your style."

The second shoe flew from behind the Master's back right into his face. Holding his aching nose, the Doctor compained loudly.

"Feeling better, I see."

The Master grinned. "Feeling more like myself again, that's for sure. Got my TARDIS back, wearing acceptable clothes again, finally left this shithole of a planet..."

The Doctor wiggled his eyebrows and the Master rolled his eyes in fake annoyance.

"Yes, Doctor. And you. I got you."

They smiled at each other for a second, all pretense forgotten. This was ridiculously new. They had known each other all their lives, had grown up together, had made plans for this day to come, had dreamt themselves to this exact spot, but found themselves fighting over the galaxies instead.

Here they were now.

Both excited, yet frightened for this whole new chapter that should've started a long time ago and whether or not it would entail all that they made it out to be.

The Master frowned, then turned away quickly and the Doctor could basically feel his nervousness radiate off him. He lead the way out of his TARDIS, now standing in the Doctor's, stroking his, which had now taken the shape of a (black, of course) column.

"You think this'll work?"

"Sure," the Doctor shrugged. "They'll get along. Will make my TARDIS a little less lonely, actually."

The Master sighed. "Still not sure why we can't just use mine for steering."

"'Cause that would be far too precise and accurate, and isn't that boring," the Doctor grinned, taking the Master's attempt at distraction for what it was and pressed a little kiss on his lover's lips.

They had done this for weeks and weeks on Gallifrey, but it felt different now, heavier somehow, with the weight of all their history involved.

It felt right. It felt like meant to be with a shot of "Never having dreamed of doing this again" and a tiny, tiny little spritz of "finally".

The Doctor, fairly sure he was becoming addicted to it and deciding there was nothing he could do about it within half a second, pulled the Master closer at his collar, deepening the kiss.

The Master kissed him back for a while and they melted together easily, feeling more comfortable with each second passing, falling more into roles that were familiar ground. When he finally, gently pushed the Doctor away, however, the Master was looking at the ground, his eyes averted from him.

"What did you say to them, Doctor?"

The Doctor froze.

"What?"

"The crowd. I... I saw them, you know I saw them."

Biting his lip, the Doctor shook his head. There had been quite a uproar between the people of Gallifrey, at the quickly spreading news of who their president really was and what had happened. They had been busy stealing back their ships and reprogramming the Council's controls over to them again, but he had known he wouldn't be able to keep the Master distracted forever.

He sighed.

"I haven't-"

"Don't lie to me." Sharp, dark eyes were now darting up to him. "I know you talked to them."

The Doctor frowned. "Let me speak, please? I didn't say much. I didn't have to. Most of them had come to defend you. Shouted you were the best thing to have ever happened to them. I _know_," he added to the Master's incredulously raised eyebrow. "I couldn't believe it either."

He grinned, but the Master remained serious.

"Stop mocking and start talking. What did you say?"

The Doctor's grin fell off his face. He didn't care about what the people thought, he realised, he wanted to know what _he_ had thought.

"I told them to remember this day," he replied quietly. "To remember what they have learned, to use it, to take back their power from the council and fight for their rights the way you showed them to."

There was something so incredibly vulnerable in the Master's eyes, he was almost scared to look at it.

"Is that... what I did?"

The Doctor nodded, smiling gently.

"Oh."

The Master thought quietly for a while, looking down to the grated floor again.

"Taking my power back," he said finally, every word seeming to give him trouble. "Was what I wanted to do, back when I first... I felt..."

"I know," the Doctor whispered, when it became clear after a while, that nothing else was coming from the Master. "I know. And I know you wanted to prove to me that you can be a good leader. But you didn't have to prove anything to me, you silly old fool. I know you. No one knows you like I do. You proved it to _them_. And you did a hell of a good job with it, considering their cheering."

The Master took a deep breath, his eyes slowly wandering up again, and an unusual soft smile growing on his face.

"Thanks, Doctor. It's bloody ironic, but I... I think I needed you by my side for this."

The Doctor shrugged. "Here's to what we always knew and then forget. We need each other to grow. We need each other to survive. And we need each other to be happy."

And they were right back where they had been before their detour, smiling at each other boylishy, and the Doctor considered how quick would be acceptable to tear that carefully chosen outfit right off the Master again.

Reading his mind, the Time Lord raised an eyebrow.

"Don't even _think_ about it. Use buttons, like a civilised person!"

With a wide grin, the Doctor was pulling him back into his arms again, kissing him deeply. At some point, they must've stumbled through his TARDIS back into the Master's, right into his bedroom, right onto the bed. At some point, both had torn clothes off the other without any recollection, at some point, _someone_ had tied the Doctor to his bed with a scarf that _someone_ had stolen from his wardrobe and made sure he would _never_ lose any recollection of it, ever.

And at some point, the Doctor thought of having laid right here, only a few weeks ago, in the Master's arms, contemplating love and what it meant, without even realising how much power it had, how much it could make or destroy a person. Funny, how telling a person could be so redundant, when not telling that very same person could make them run in circles.

There should've never been left a single doubt inside the Master that he loved him. But he had left and ran and ran and never looked back, so what conclusion should he had come to?

He placed a soft kiss on the Master's temple.

"So," he whispered. "About our wedding... How does Gallifrey sound? Maybe in the Council Room?"

The Master smiled at him tiredly after a few moments of silence.

"On the middle of their table, I suppose?"

The Doctor nodded.

"Naturally. Right during their conference about what to do with that empty President spot, I thought. We can officiate ourselves."

"You're a lunatic," the Master grinned. "And yes. That's a yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read along, left comments or kudos, you guys rock. <3 This story was my absolute baby and I'm very proud of finally having it finished and down on paper. That plot bunny was haunting me, but I think I did an okay job of doing it justice.
> 
> Happy Doctor Who day everyone! :)


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